Yes thankyou, Mummy. It wasn't as bad as having to watch Alphonse's giant crab infestation get cleared up.
Could of been.
Yes, even I witnessed THAT abhorrent event. I was so traumatized that I was coffin stricken for what felt like three millennia!
When you get so old you can't tell how long you slept, it is time to give up and watch the sun rise.
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*Meanwhile, in the Abyss...*
Push forward! Slay every last Qlippoth that dares to stand against us!
*Through the blurry haze of gunfire, rotating blades, the angry growls of machinery and the yells and war cries of fearsome genestealers and devout cultists, ancient evils are being torn asunder to make way for new, even greater and more terrifying evils.*
Let us all praise she who is our God, she who is our saviour! May she who devours all who defy her, join us as one consciousness, one voice, one spirit, one mind, one vision, one goal, one conquest!
*Offerings are then made in honour of Dowager Comtesse de Malodor.*
The hard part is the sanity checks.
Lucky for me I have no sanity.
Offerings? For moi? How utterly delightful! Crucified paladins are my absolute favourite, too. And all to the accompaniment of my top 'Queen' track of all time.
More tea, Graz'zt? Tell me, have you met my daughter, Juliette?
Mummy, considering I've just hatched approximately 1,500 voracious chitinous horrors without so much as a sniff of a gin fizz, I'm not really in the mood right now.
Ah, splendid. Bottoms up, Z'fgn'aaakhthuuxxx!
I assume you have a bottom, unless that's a rude question?
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The rules of the GeneStealer Cult state that names are only given to the patriarch, but those born of the 3rd and 4th generation can forge an identity for themselves (as they are the most human) and of course, those who are indoctrinated into the fold already possess names. As for your question, yes (like all living things) we have backsides and whilst that isn't a rude question, it can still be a little uncomfortable.
*Meanwhile, another servitor attacks and kills someone who is stroking the ammunition and minerals. No surprises that it was Comte de Malodor and his wife just watched on, laughing at his misfortune.*
Z'fgn'aaakhthuuxx, dear, I know you mean well, but please refrain from killing my wretched son. Every time it happens, he's exiled back to my portion of the Nine Hells for 100 years, and I married off the stupid boy and got him a commission in the Army in order to get him out of my bloody hair.
Yes, and it looks lovely, too - that sprinkling of Azata gore really brings out your auburn highlights, Mummy.
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Who's Z'fgn'aaakhthuuxx? The two servitors don't have names whatsoever and the patriarch is called Ryth'Klik. Trust me, the GeneStealer Cult is very precise in it's rules, laws and traditions. As for Comte de Malodor, as much as I sympathize with you Dowager Comtesse de Malodor, it's his own bloody fault for "manhandling" the merchandise.
It's Regimental Tradition to stroke the ammunition before firing!
Wow, that was a shock - worse than the time when I found out the hard way that a gelugon is not, in fact, a chewy Italian iced dessert.
Still, now I have nothing to do except design new uniforms for the erinyes servants in Mummy's Castle of Despair. Hee hee!
About that. There have been some complaints they are more eye candy for the men than practical armor for the erinyes air corps.
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*A small gang of cultists bundle Comte de Malodor and roughly force him out of the uniform depot (with the GeneStealer Cult sending in some servitors and familiars to correct the mistakes and make some much needed improvements), away from the storehouses that contain all of the merchandise and throws him face down onto the ground (with the mud making him look really terrible).*
We do not tolerate anyone to go near ANY of our supplies, especially unauthorised personnel who dare to touch it in THAT manner!
*Comte de Malodor is then injected with a special substance that makes him completely bound to the will of the GeneStealer Cult (as well as being forced to obey any order given to him by his wife, sister or mother).*
I think I have a way to solve all of our problems.
:enters, Jambi pushing a large cylindrical container hidden under a satin cloth:
:produces a small bundle of saffron silk from a vest pocket, unwraps a small gem:
For the purposes of my own amusement, I introduced a melange of various arcane energies, divine powers, and alchemical reagents to Le Compte's system without his knowledge some time ago. This gem :displays: is the catalytic element to this endeavor.
:closes hand, crushing gem:
:the Compte's body swells and explodes catastrophically, ending all life and leveling all buildings in a half mile radius. The man himself is quite disintegrated, and the GSMC's stock is destroyed (along with assorted collateral damage to unrelated parties and businesses):
As you see: quite amusing, though I am more than a bit put out that I was unable to save this for the climax of his birthday Bacchanalia next month.
Jambi...
:his valet removes the covering from the tank, revealing a simulacrum of the Compte floating in a viscous mauve fluid. It seems identical to the Compte, save for a grossly oversized scrotum:
:smirks: My little joke. At any rate...
:he lays a finger on a smooth strip of gold along the center of the tank. Runes appear and begin to glow as his caress runs across the metal:
:within the tank, the eyes of the figure open and it begins to writhe within the fluid, suffocating:
:nods to Jambi:
:Jambi pulls a large brass lever, and the tank tilts forward and expels it's contents with the splash of several hundred gallons of fluid, bearing the revivified Compte and the scent of lavender:
Jambi, something for Le Compte to wear, please.
:Jambi helps the Compte into a short silken robe bearing vaguely Tienish ornamentation. It barely covers his posterior in the back, and his ponderous testicles hang heavily a full foot below the hem in the front. Slime still drips from his pallid flesh:
There. Le Compte has been punished for crossing the GSMC, and his soul is still earthbound so as to avoid inconveniencing the Dowager Comptesse, with my compliments.
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How nice. I happen to know that he's always wanted b$@~@!%s like that. I didn't want to know, of course, but that never stopped him.
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I guess its better then herbivorous plants because then they would be cannibals.
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Doooo
Yoooouuur
Balls hang low?
Do they waggle to and fro?
Can you tie them in a knot?
Μπορείτε να τους συνδέσετε σε ένα τόξο?
Can you toss them over your shoulder,
Do your baaallss haaang looow?
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Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes!
Gawd bless ya, Mary GoatPoppins!
Well that was special.
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I'm not sure if that would be the "correct" word for any of what has been posted in-between your two posts, Vidmaster7, but it's something people won't forget (hard as we may try). On a completely different note, Malvel has instructed his beasts to take part in this thread. So watch out everybody, this Hotel California on GoatToucher Island, is getting a few new rooms.
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On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
ACK look away its Goattoucher!
What a nice surprise.
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night.
Have you been watching 'TJ Hooker' with the sound off and the curtains closed again?
Tell the truth, now.
Knowing Vidmaster7, it was the 24 hour Hair marathon.
He's been hitting the signed 'Winger' picture-discs hard
Do your baaallss haaang looow?
A plan well executed.
Darlin', give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen
Give me down to there hair, shoulder length or longer
Here, baby, there, momma, everywhere, daddy, daddy
Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair
Flow it, show it, long as God can grow it, my hair
He uses the same hair care products as Pulg so I wouldn't expect it to take long.
Say a little prayer to Mighty Pogonos.
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Apparently, he's dead, or at least that's what his wives told me. Anyway, I have been requested to announce who is next to post. So please give a warm welcome to: the Gremlins from the Kremlin!
*Curtains open, to reveal that the Gremlins from the Kremlin have just been eaten by Claw the giant monkey.*
Okay, nevermind.
*Walks away.*
Poor Gremlins
I hardly knew them.
Well, in defense of Claw: Gremlins -are- nature's candy.